


[sweet MOTHERFUCKING dreams]

by boychic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:04:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boychic/pseuds/boychic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they sleep, he lets his chucklevoodoos sing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[sweet MOTHERFUCKING dreams]

**Author's Note:**

> Augh, I'll fix the formatting later guysh.

When they sleep, he lets his chucklevoodoos sing.

 

It had taken time, SO MUCH MOTHERFUCKING TIME, to hone his natural skills, but it was worth seeing that pale-haired heathen's haggard face when he prowls the lab during the

daylight hours. The Knight of Time's movements are slow like the last drops of sopor dribbling out of a pan. He hasn't been sleeping much, and the dark lines etching themselves into Dave's face are proof of that. Most pleasing is the way he jumbles his blasphemous words.

 

It will take time to work the fear of puppets even further into the human's psyche, but he has all the time in the world.

 

At night she dozes lightly, then jerks awake when his 'voodoos take ahold of her. Her hands shake and her movements are sporadic, like the twitch of a spider's leg. The eight-balls she

compulsively breaks are always underfoot, now. Vriska, he likes to watch. Her eyes drift closed and her body relaxes, but right before she falls asleep there is tension in every muscle in her body and he knows her blood runs as cool as sopor as she snaps back into reality, panting.

 

He'll make sure she'll never get a single iron in the fire. None of them.

 

Karkat is as talkative as ever, but his rants have lost some of their spiteful edge. His mood has improved. It's hard to tell with him, but his alert, glossy black eyes and the occasional affectionate pap give his moods away. Karkat is the attentive moirail he's always been, albeit more receptive to feelings jams since he's been able to sleep free of nightmares.

 

Maybe next they'll work their way up to slam poetry.

 

Tavbro is the most improved, without Vriska threatening his self-confidence. The tauran troll is chipper and energetic with his sleep restored and nightly dreams of flying and the lost wrigglers. He brings the illest rhymes Paradox space has ever seen, even schoolfeeding that blaspheming albino. That had been particularly satisfying to watch.

 

He'd even taken on stairs. With predictable results.


End file.
